


Name on my back, name in my hands

by BakanoHealthy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Death Theories, Brotherly Love, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows spoilers, Reunion, Twin Affection, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakanoHealthy/pseuds/BakanoHealthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fred looked back, George was always there. That was the basic of things. </p>
<p>This time, when he turns his head, there is nothing around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name on my back, name in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result of a period of re-sulking over Fred's canon death, because honestly, what else can I make out of my idle time. And seeing that there has been a real lot of character study and H/C from George's POV, I chose Fred's POV for this one (or maybe I just like digging into the possibilities of what there can be after one's death, and how thoroughly being, well, dead, separates Fred from George and George from Fred; also just maybe I secretly still want them to reunite at some point). I tampered a lot with the images and notions, and the result is a little bit sloppy and maybe hard to read, or even totally grammarly incorrect, but who am I to say.
> 
> Thoughts or grammar corrections are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading my story.

When Fred looked back, George was always there.

Being an individual in a duo is a bizarre experience, that's what most people think. But Fred had lived it for so long that he could never recall how it was like to be 'one', even if he cared to try. Neither did he have the time to remember those details, to be honest: when he was with George, he was busy doing everything; without George, he busied himself waiting. But the critical point is that he actually had nothing concerning that so-called "being one" in his memories to dig out, because his starting point also had George included. Fred and George. Gred and Forge.

However, "duo" still seems to have come later in their life. What came first was "twin". Fred had always held a pride for that title - wizard twins were never many, and wizard twins who stuck together to his and George's level, even more so. For the boys, acting "twins-y" had become something of a theatrical nature: chorusing, finishing each other's sentences, throwing things back and forth, sixth-sense-ing in a twin-like way, all those little tricks they'd performed to the point of becoming professionals. Twin going duo meant two lives -  _one_  life - turning into a magic show, and to be frank, Fred didn't mind that one bit. He loved the fame. That meant George loved the fame, too. And vice versa.

Fred had once smiled widely, "Having George as your twin is a wild ride - anyone wants to try out for one hour?" and swung his arms around to show his brother and best friend by his side, grinning just as wide, a price tag hung from his neck; and always, the feeling that everything was going so right spred in the narrow space left between them like a fallen over cup of Fortescue ice cream. The taste of strawberry ice cream was one thing Fred adored, but never registered in his mind, because he was always contented, and George too was always contented, so none of them cared to remind the other.

And really, did anything actually try to go against them: both loved their place in their duo. Fred never stopped treasuring his position of half a step ahead of George, and always subconsciously kept his pace even to that of his brother. That was a tiny, subtle agreement that they had come to even before the day they took their first step on the ground, an agreement about Fred being the one opening wide the doors to a Wizard Wheezes world of true wonders and freedom for the people craving those, and George being the one half-a-step-behind with the contents, with plans, with a pair of eyes and a wand Fred appreciated to the top of any scale for appreciation. That was an agreement about space, about positions, and about trust. That was the thing that enduced their readiness to turn their back at each other to face different sides of a challenge, when Fred raised his voice and George illustrated his words and "Fred and George" worked perfectly.

But there were seconds when Fred looked back, for it was not something often did. He respected the half-a-step agreement, he respected George's position, the same way George never took one step forward; and he trusted George more than anyone. But there were seconds, his wand in his firm hand, his surroundings blurring out of focus, he looked at George. And for the fact that even when looking in a mirror he still always saw two of them, looking back, for him, was like tearing himself apart to analyse the inside. The knowing that it was George, someone- _not_ -himself, added to the weirdness. During these rare one or two seconds, Fred has no wants but to just stand there and think about George, about his own being, about what they are as two and as one unit, for their own lives or for any other's.

"Fred and George", to Fred, was the greatest enigma, and the most precious common property of the two.

But there was a thing Fred treasured more than "Fred and George", and he knew the same went for George. That priority was an oddity, as it was older than Fred or George or "Fred and George", than even their "twins" title itself. It had been built inside both of them forever ago, at the same time, and they accepted its existence unconditionally. It was just there, playing the role of the ground for everything to build on it, and slowly they forgot that it even existed.

The one Fred holds dearer than "Fred and George" is George.

The one George holds dearer than "Fred and George" is Fred.

Fred always forgot the things he loved, because he had never had to guard them. He had frequently reminded himself to never regret, and to never do anything he could regret doing, for he knew all too well, that a disturbed show was a nothing but a failure. But he forgot.

"I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

He forgot.

When Fred looked back, George was always there. That was the basic of things.

This time, when he turns his head, there is nothing around him. No war, no light, no pain, no  _George_. Fred stands bare in the nothingness, with one sole, numbed thought.

_Oh._

Fred started falling apart. Paralysed, he watches what he is tear away from him. He sees his face, the face he shares with his twin, crumble until it is no more recognisable. He hears the link named "twin" crack painfully before it snaps, vanishes, not even an inch left behind. He sees his name fall off bit by bit from "Fred and George", leaving a blank space open wide like a gash next to the other name. He watches himself, the Frederick Fabian Weasley, become one with nothingness, and the half-a-step-ahead position stuff itself with a choked feeling, not letting anyone come and fill it, but always staying annoyingly empty.

Fred, or what's left of Fred, wants to cry. But his heart is gone and so are his tears, and the source of all the emotions swirling in him has sunk to the bottom of nothingness, so he doesn't cry. Now he only has a near-empty cauldron, with  _George_  and  _George_  and  _George_  boiling inside until it's all gone. He only has the one bit of  _truth_  that he rolls around forever in his bitter mind, that  _George_  ( _who is George? why is this person important?_ ) will have to sustain all of this,  _George_  will have to bear the nothingness that Fred Weasley has turned into, bear the trust that has lost the other end, bear the 'being' that has vanished of the other person.

Fred doesn't believe this. Fred feels meanless. He dives into the cauldron, he goes further under, pass the white noises floating on the surface. What is he? He has nothing left, his identity has been stripped off of him, and oh how much he loathes the rantings going on inside him-

He touches the bottom of the cauldron.

Fallen to his knees, he clears away the trashes, the fragments of aftershock. Words after words appear ( _what is this language? what language does he speak?_ ) and he clings to them. He clings to them, to his  _core_ , so they can never be lost again and he can never lose them again. He clutches at the being written in words he understands, in the name that was used in this world by him and-

 

_The one that Fred holds dearest is George._

 

Eyes shut tightly, he waits. He waits until the day when  _Fred_  would look back and  _George_  would be there, and the world would again revolve around that one axis.

 

_The one that Fred holds dearest is George._

 

 

_Fred - hold dearest - George._

 

 

 

_Fred - George._

 

 

 

 

 

_George._

 

 

 

 

 

 

One day, he picks up a word,  _Fred_.

 

One day, Fred looks back, and George is there. _ **/.**_


End file.
